


Survival on the Edge of the Night

by Mika_Franolich



Category: Dracula (1931), Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Angels, Aristocrats - Freeform, Attendants, Bats, Beelzebub - Freeform, Cannibalism, Castles, Character Death, Christianity, Corruption, Countess, Dark Castle, Death, Demons, Dracula Influence/References, Dukes - Freeform, Earls, Evil, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, God - Freeform, Good, Gothic, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Hell, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ireland, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Monsters, Mountains, Murder, Murder Family, Murder-Suicide, Night Terrors, No Romance, No Sex, No Smut, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Story - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Themes, Royalty, Saints, Satan - Freeform, Servants, Suicide, Suspense, Terror, Theological Themes, Theology, Thriller, Torture, Valley, Vampires, Vlad Dracula - Freeform, Vlad the impaler, Wolves, butcher - Freeform, castle - Freeform, gothic themes, royal, vampire, vampire bats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mika_Franolich/pseuds/Mika_Franolich
Summary: Time is the enemy of all men, and death is a seductive promise to which everyone succumbs.A devoted Christian in nineteenth century war-torn Ireland, those are the foundations of Mihaela's beliefs. The only thing immortal is your soul. When her parents, an earl and countess, force her to flee their home in search of refugee in the Carrantuohil mountains, her entire belief system is shattered.It is in a hidden valley cloaked in the oppressive shadow of the looming mountains that Mihaela discovers God's hand doesn't reach everywhere, and monsters thrive in the dark. When she meets Duke Cirin, a vampire who has been alive for thousands of years, she must employ every trick she can devise to survive. In this game of chess, where one false move can prove fatal, will the bishop triumph, or will the queen fall?





	1. Chapter 1: Within the Valley

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by, and loosely based on, Vlad (the Impaler) Dracula. It has prevalent religious and Gothic themes.

The gusts of snow drove unremittingly across the land, sweeping away all signs of life. Not even the mountains that towered over the valley like hardened guards cast a shadow into the pure, blinding white of the blizzard’s wrath. The storm was centered over the valley as if God had sensed the impurities ingrained into that very earth and was wiping it out to begin anew with the tears of the sentinel angels that had long stood watching as the corruption crept forth.

Through the storm trudged one solitary man who had avoided the hand of God, a huddled gray mass that pushed determinedly against the punishing blows of the howling wind and biting cold. He had been on his way to Galway, Ireland, north of Kerry, and had settled on taking a shortcut through the Carrantoohil Mountains rather than attempting the long and grueling trip around them. He gritted his chattering teeth as he wondered if that choice would be his death. If he had made a mistake by yielding to the persuasive, yet apparently injudicious, desire to sooner end his journey rather than do as common sense demanded and follow the beaten path. No, in the end he didn’t need to wonder, as he already knew the answer. He was trapped in a hellhole with seemingly no way out except one, the route all mortals take in the end.

His one and only consolation now was barely a reality in his mind, more a glimpse, a flash that had come and gone so quickly it was as if he were asleep and it had all been a part of a dream. But the hope that he had not been hallucinating was all he had to desperately cling to. And oh, what a fragile hope it was, and how desperately he clung. Before he had breached the trees of the valley, before the gentle, almost calming snowfall had turned into a full tempest with winds that seemed to want to rip the very soul from his body, he had thought he had glimpsed a light off in the distance through a gap in the trees. The sight was gone as quickly as he’d seen it and had never returned, and he told himself then that he had only imagined it. But now, with shelter being his last hope for survival, he vigorously rubbed his arms to contain the remaining dredges of warmth the freeze had yet to drive from him. He trudged ever onward through the mounting piles of snow, telling himself all the while that safety was just ahead.

He almost wanted to give up. In this storm even if there was a shelter up ahead and even if it was close enough to reach he could not know if he was heading towards it. The blizzard that drove relentlessly at him was so thick he could not see his hand when he held it aloft. He could be walking in circles and have no way of knowing. But he had come this far from the battle of the Diamonds, and he would not surrender to the product of heaven’s wrath yet.

He had deserted the army for his baby. His pregnant wife was due and, with impossible odds and no morale left in the army he fought for, he knew he would not survive another battle. He had refused in that moment, when death and newfound life loomed upon him on divided sides of one path, to die. He had chosen his way and it was one shielded by old weeping willows sending their tears and piercing shadows down onto him, filling him with their mournful mark. Yes, it was a path cast with shame, but it was now his to stick to, and it was far more lively than the dead shambles that lined the road at the other end. He had decided the army that forcibly enlisted him could go join the devil- he would not let his child enter the world fatherless. His child is what had brought him to the valley and what compelled him onwards even then when he wanted to relent to the fury of the storm.

By what he believed a miracle, he arrived at what he saw was a grand castle. Not even the storm could hide the heaven-reaching towers and massive parapets that forced their mark of black into its raging reaches. He rushed at the castle, his frost-bitten lips opening to issue a parched cry of relief. Pushing through the knee-deep snow, he managed to reach the huge wooden doors that stood like the most lovely song of heaven before him.

He painstakingly labored to open the heavy barriers, his strength all but leached from his body. The doors were unrelenting in the face of his feeble shoves and refused him the shelter beyond. He knew nobody would hear his knocks above the overwhelming howl of the wind, which had filled his head with a persistent scream since it had first begun. Desperate, he began walking along the castle searching for a way in. Reaching a window, he lifted his pack that had been strapped securely to his front and used his remaining strength to launch through the stained glass in front of him. The glass shattered, tinkling down like stardust onto the earth, tiny pieces of cool yet somehow hellish fire mixing bitterly with the tears of the angels.

He clambered into the welcoming confines of the castle with unconstrained relief and collapsed onto the floor. Arms outstretched, he lay among the shattered glass, breathing heavily with eyes closed. He knew he needed to rise and find a place to hide, but for the moment, at least, he wanted nothing but to rest. He could only hope nobody found the shattered window for a while to come.

His hopes were found to be in vain.

A croaking voice, which sounded to him like the chorus of heaven itself after the endless shrieking of the wind, met his ears. He had never been more relieved, nor more terrified.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

He was filled with adrenaline at the sound. His eyes flew open as he jolted upright and whipped his head from side to side. His eyes darted around the room in search of the source of the voice. He did not have to look far.

A lady stood before him. “Follow me. Leave your pack,” she commanded with the same creaky tone. He was taken aback when he saw she had been right in front of him- he had never heard her approach, and he was certain there was nobody there when he had lunged through the window moments before. Could he have fallen asleep without realizing it? But then why would she say that they had been expecting him?

He stared soundlessly at the woman as he sat motionless on the floor. He was completely clueless about everything- how she was standing before him, what she meant by her cryptic statement- but he was most staggered by the sight of her. The vision before him could not have been older than twenty-five, yet her voice had led him to the conclusion she was archaic. He had presumed he would be met with salt and cracks sinking into a hardened surface, the very image of time itself. Just like earth exposed too long to the sun, he had expected all vitality to be drained, leaving nothing except for a barren foundation as a shadow of what once was. Yet he was met with the image of a darkened beauty- her skin glowed with the unrestrained privilege of youth, her hair was a glossy black that would not see the regrettable touch of gray for many years to come, and inside of her was a fire so strong that the man was certain it was the heat of it that warmed the very room he lay in. She suffered none from her darkness, for she seemed to shine into the dark interior of the parlor he had landed in, only glowing brighter as her surroundings dimmed.

As he sat stunned on the floor, taking all of her in, the darkened beauty he had been appraising was walking slowly away. She tread lightly over the cushioned rug that he had landed on, almost as though her feet never touched it at all.

“You may follow me into the unknown or embrace the early death you only just avoided by entering the throes of this furious blizzard once more,” she issued the ultimatum with no inflection to reveal any hint of emotion, as if offering him his death were as casual a thing as sipping tea.

He remained sitting, still terrified of what would happen. He had broken the window of the castle- whatever the lord’s intent was, it could not be pleasant, and he was neither ready to die by the blizzard, nor be punished by the lord's hand.

“Choose,” she commanded with just as steady a tone as she had said everything else.

That last command was all he needed. Rising, he followed her, somewhat pacified. He was a soldier, after all. If need arose, he could kill her and any other nuisances.

She led him down a dimly lit hallway lined with flickering candles in Gothic-era holders that were placed between stony-faced and empty-eyed visages of people long past. Surrounded by darkened wood frames as grim as the paintings themselves, they were the only things in the castle not teeming with energy. The subjects of the paintings were long gone, their bodies returned to be nothing more than dirt in the earth, leaving only the sad and meaningless rendering of their image behind in an inefficacious attempt to be remembered.

“This place has seen many lives,” he remarked as he appraised each hauntingly dull piece in turn.

“More than can be discerned from these depictions,” came the strange reply.

“So this castle has been the site of many battles?”

“Of a sort. It has not seen any grand wars, but many fights have been won,” her answer drifted back to him clearly, yet it still seemed to him to be a purposely abstruse riddle. It had its desired effect: it told the man little yet filled him with an unexplainable sense of dread.

He quickly gathered himself enough to continue on, having paused to stare at the retreating woman’s form in a fruitless attempt to get a better sense of her. Something about her shook him to his core. It wasn’t just her, though, it was also the mansion, where every panel moaned with unreleased pain and every spire and wall seemed to conceal a sordid secret. It was a mansion bulging with barely-concealed secrets that had been carefully gathered and contained over eons, and it seemed to the man about to rupture. In front of him the woman began singing, as though to hide the pained voices that called out to him from the darkened corners.

He searched for something to say, anything to end the thoughts that were racing through his head and to silence that eerie song.

“Who is the current lord of this land?”

“You needn’t worry about that.”

“But if I am to be meeting him...”

“Oh, you will not be meeting him. You shall only be meeting one other person tonight,” she informed him before once more resuming her song. He looked around nervously as rustling, this time very real, began. Nobody was in sight.

“Who is that, pray tell?”

“Be our guest, be our guest...” she began to sing in a clear voice, so unlike her usual one as she ignored his query.

“It must be earlier than I expected, for so many people to be awake,” the man remarked in a way that he hoped didn’t show how nervous he truly was. As he looked about him and listened that feeling only began to grow, and he found he couldn’t stop the cold sweat that broke out across his skin.

“Whatever do you mean?” the lady asked so calmly it could not have been a deception.

“The- voices...” the man croaked uncertainly as the mumbled words grew even louder.

“I am afraid I do not know what you mean. There are no people here.”

“But...”

“We’re almost there,” she interrupted him blithely before once more resuming singing.

She moved to the side of the hall, trailing her fingers along the black and red wall. When she moved aside, a painting was revealed.

It covered the wall from top to bottom, its golden, intricate frame only serving to make the dangerous promise that lurked within all the more apparent.

In the painting a man kneeled with his face upturned. Hands lovingly caressed either side of his face as welcoming lips edged closer to his. It was almost the image of two lovers stealing a moment away, yet it was much more depraved of a scene than that. Between the two people who were the focus of the painting fleeted something so inescapable even lovers cannot truly share it: the kneeling man, eyes wide, yielded his soul to the devil that had him ensnared in its vile grasp. It hovered above the man with an immeasurable glee in its eyes. Around them was a macabre scene of corpses that had already surrendered that integral part of themselves. They lie emptily on the ground, gazing out on the world as if they were already dead. Demons, cherub skeletons and mutated creatures danced around the two in the center, completing the twisted scene before the soldier.

The man felt a wave of nausea as they reached the painting and it took everything within him to control himself. As he stood there before the painting the jumbled whispers grew more insistent, coming at him faster and louder from all directions; he had to control the overwhelming urge to sprint with everything he had back into the now quite welcoming blizzard. As the talking continued, each voice vying to be heard above the other, he began to register one repeated phrase, “Get out, get out, get out.” The intensity of the voices grew until they were a roar in his ears.

He wanted to run. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears and block out that harsh, terrorizing noise. Instead he stood fixated in place, suddenly colder than the blizzard that awaited him outside. Cold sweat began to pour out of him. He tried to speak but couldn’t; his tongue, now thick and clumsy in his mouth, was rendered as immobile as the rest of him.

The woman continued on past the portrait without sparing it another glance. She casually rested at the door beside it, her fingers still on the wall, one hand resting gracefully on the door. “These walls hum with vitality, do they not?” she whispered almost lovingly as she trailed her hand down to the knob. With a final push, the door opened with a creak...

~ ~

“Be our guest, be our guest...” sang the butcher as he brought his cleaver down on a leg. Slicing off a piece of the meat, he dropped it down to the tattered cat beside him. The cat leaned its rotted nose down to give the meat a cursory sniff before hissing disdainfully, its shabby black fur spiking up along its hunched back.

“Donnae be so callous. We treat our guests wif respect,” the butcher brought down his cleaver once more as the cat wrapped itself about his leg with a cursory huff in reply. In the castle all was normal. Yet, in the town that rested ten miles past the valley, a carriage would soon roll in. It would bring with it a dream of happiness in the form of gleaming, golden walls and an optimistic, if rather volatile, family of three, but what lurked on the horizon was a promise of a raining fire that would burn everything once glorious to a hellish crisp.


	2. Chapter 2: The Cross

~ Four days later ~

The man in the carriage hopped down as a footman rushed to assist the Lady Mother and Lady Mihaela.

“Well, after an arduous journey, we have arrived!” the earl proclaimed as he loftily gazed around the village.

The passer-by's gave him furtive glances as they hurried past, each with their head hung low. In the distance the sound of rushing water from a fall could be heard, but in the village not even a babe cried out. It was as quiet as the most uninhabited corner of the world so that if the family did not see it was a village with their own eyes they would not have believed it.

“I say, it is a rather grim place, is it not?” he observed huffily. Most of what the earl did was done huffily.

“Husband, let’s find the inn. It has been a tedious journey for all of us and I think we all could do with some rest.”

“Where do you think the castle is?” he continued, ignoring his wife, who he considered to be quite the nag, as usual.

“Does it matter at this moment?” the countess countered peevishly as only a lady could- her voice never raised, her tone never yielding any indication of her boiling disdain, but her haughty eyes imparting a world of seething criticism. Mihaela raised her head towards the sky as her parents parried words of sugar that were sharpened into daggers back and forth.

As she raised her head the wind brushed past her hair softly, carrying with it the delicious smell of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. Mihaela could not help but think that the one moment she had experienced of warmth in those soft winds was the only gentle thing the land around her had to offer, for it seemed to have a cruel shadow over it that touched every living thing, dragging out all the purity and kindness that had surely once managed to survive there. Life was drained from the land, of that there was no doubt. Not only was there an absence of any noise that was usually so normal for a village- dogs barking, children laughing- but there was also no color. Everything was dull, lackluster, as if someone had come and paint over it with thick layers of gray until every hidden blade of grass and every fortified heart dropped from the oppressiveness of it. The artist had been effective- nothing was left untarnished.

Mihaela came to from her dark musings as her mother approached.

“Mihaela, darling, your handkerchief. You mustn’t breathe in this miasma.”

“Yes, Mother,” Mihaela replied demurely as she delicately raised the handkerchief she kept on her person to her gracefully upturned nose.

“The air these poor put off is much too dangerous for ones such as ourselves to breathe.”

“I do think the land is much more toxic,” Mihaela softly rejoined, not appreciating her mother’s words, but her mother had already turned away, her attention drawn by what she considered to be a much more pressing matter.

“Whatever do you mean there is no inn?” Mihaela’s mother demanded as she marched towards the unfortunate footman who had been forced to deliver the upsetting news.

“I say, how is that possible?” the earl huffed.

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord and lady,” the footman said quickly as he bowed his head, as if he were somehow to blame for the minor inconvenience.

“We shall have to continue onto the castle tonight. It is a grievous discourtesy, to appear unannounced in such a fashion, but I am afraid circumstances render it unavoidable,” the countess sighed as she tugged her silky, tea green gloves into place.

“I am sorry, my lady, but I already requested a guide to the castle. Apparently there was a blizzard a few short days ago. The road to the castle is impassable.”

“Do you really mean to tell me we are stuck in this village for the night?” the countess demanded shrilly. It was a voice she had never before used and had never dreamed of using, yet the horror of residing in one of the village cottages for even a second proved too much for her delicate sensibilities. One of the maids that had accompanied the family on the long journey quickly placed an arm around the countess to support her as she swooned.

The footman wrung his hands. “I’m sorry to say it could be for more than a night, my lady."

“This is unacceptable!” the earl insisted stubbornly as a look of horror overcame the face of the countess.

“Wherever will we sleep? In one of these shacks?” the countess moaned bitterly as she placed her face into her hands, as though if she blocked out everything it would all become untrue.

“I have secured lodging in what the villagers assure me is the most comfortable cottage.”

“Oh, good heavens!” the countess cried out weakly.

“You are absolutely certain that there is no way to the castle?” the earl persisted.

“Quite, my lord.”

The earl sighed hopelessly as he gazed off into the distance, as though he could spot a path to the castle nobody yet knew of.

“Very well, then. We have no choice other than to graciously accept whatever abode this village has to offer. But I want it seen to that it is properly cleaned first!”

“As you wish, my lord. I’ll see to it,” the footman replied, and Mihaela was impressed at how he retained his composure. Her mother, on the other hand, was anything but calm, still too distracted by what was nothing less than her worst nightmare come true.

“You cannot seriously think that I will spend even one second in one of these decrepit buildings! They are a grievance to simply behold,” the countess stiffly protested, suddenly able to collect herself enough to object to what was happening.

The earl bestowed his wife with a doting smile as he grasped her hand in his, leaning down to place a tender yet mocking kiss on a silken back.

“Come now, dear, you are finally receiving all that you deserve. Why do you spurn it?”

Leaving his wife momentarily speechless, though with sputter aplenty, the earl spun on his heel and strode off to see what there was in way of entertainment in the town, his portly belly jiggling along the way.

 

Two hours later (and many dusty attendants) the cottage was cleaned from top to bottom and made as comfortable as possible for the earl’s occupancy. It wasn’t terrible, as far as lodging went- it was a two story affair with light juniper wood walls and darker wood paneling. Inside was a stone fireplace where a fire crackled, sending warmth seeping throughout the well-furnished house. There was a parlor which contained a threadbare tapestry, remnant of times long past when knights and God roamed the lands freely. On the second floor were the bedrooms whose walls held the cherished memories of life; they had seen love, birth, stolen kisses, sacred bonds, moments of true weakness, and exposures of deepest strength. Each moment had left its mark on the very fabric of the house so they were etched in eternity, and there were many moments for those who cared to look... and for unwelcome intruders.

“Good heavens, there must be so much miasma here!” the countess griped as she frantically fanned her face. “Mihaela, do make sure you keep your handkerchief on you, I don’t want you breathing in too much of it.”

“Yes, Mother,” Mihaela murmured softly as struggled to find the strength to not give her mother a scathing retort.

Attendants flocked about the royal pair, offering them refreshments. Even though they weren’t back at their mansion they were still being attended to as though they were.

“My lady, may I escort you to a seat and give you a cool compress? You look as though you need to sit down for a moment,” one of the maids, who had seen many years under the earl's employ, offered the countess.

“Yes, that would be agreeable,” the countess breathed airily as she allowed the maid to guide her towards a cushioned couch.

Mihaela gazed around the house appraisingly, taking in the high ceiling and plush rugs.

“Countess Mihaela, I could show yew to yer room, if that is to yer liking,” a woman, lined with the passage of time and with hair that of spun silver, offered. Quite along with her years she was still stacked like a bull. Mihaela immediately had the sense that the woman who stood before her, aged though she was, was no weakling.

“Please do,” Mihaela told the woman with a tiny yet radiant smile. It lit up her face, and for a moment graced her with an alluring serenity. As a plain looking girl she never had a claim to that, except for when she smiled; her inner beauty escaped her in those moments. That smile had often enraptured those around her and was perhaps her one escape from ordinary.

“Right this way then, m’ lady.”

“Of course,” Mihaela said graciously before following the woman up the stairs. She watched the woman’s quilted skirt sway as she walked up the steps. Her leather heeled boots that were as cracked as her peeked out at Mihaela as they walked.

“Your dress is very beautiful, though quite unusual. I wasn’t aware people still wore that style of dress. Everyone in this town wears clothes just like that. It’s quite...”

“Old-fashioned?” the woman replied with a wheezing, laughing cough.

“Well, yes,” Mihaela blushed, “but that isn’t to be taken as a bad thing.”

“Nobody ever leaves this town, an’ not many people come. We’re cut off from the outside world. We don’t really know how fashion has changed.”

“Oh, you can consider yourselves fortunate, then! The newest fashion requires woman not to breathe. Though it is peculiar that not many people pass through here. You’d think that this town would be ideally situated, given that places where one can rest and replenish supplies before continuing their grueling journey around the mountains are very infrequent. Strange, that...”

As Mihaela mused over such an oddity the woman gave out a frail gasp and stumbled before managing to grasp ahold of the stairway railing for support.

“My my, these stairs are- are getting too much fer the... these old bones,” she wheezed as she leaned against an aged wall, trying to catch her breath.

“Are you alright?” Mihaela asked as she stood uncertainly by, wringing her hands.

“Ju- just an old lady. Nothin’ to be consernin’ yerself with, now. Come on, yer room is just around the corner.”

Mihaela followed the woman obligingly. They came to a stop in front of a bare, wooden door in the middle of the hallway.

“This is yer room.”

The lady pushed open a door to reveal a mid-sized room. It had already been prepared by the servants that had journeyed with the earl’s family, and so was as comfy as could be hoped.

The white comforter that had hints of blue around the ruffled edges and yellow and orange birds sewn on had been freshly cleaned. There was a sturdy dresser in the corner that was made of the same walnut wood as the bed. It shone bright from the intense scrubbing it had received earlier that day. It had a middle chest with two towers rising up on either side that were topped with cream stone. On the dresser sat a crystal vase filled with beautiful purple flowers. The three windows in the room had been thrown open earlier to air out the room. They were now closed and shuttered against the dark that hovered right outside, and their light blue curtains were drawn tightly shut. It smelled faintly of lilacs and roses.

Mihaela wondered how she had gone from the grim gray of the world outside to a place so full of color and light it sent visions dancing before her eyes of sisters sharing secrets and laughs, and a happy family crowding around a robust baby newly born into the world. It was as if all the life that had once been in the village had fled to the tiny corner of the world she was now in.

Mihaela smiled as she looked around, taking everything in. “It’s quaint,” she quietly told the woman, not meaning for it to be condescending in any way. There was not an insincere bone in her body. She couldn’t help but think that the simplicity of this room was the only way people needed to live. Her fingers wandered to her cross as she thought of the vice she had lived her whole life; in the midst of immense wealth she had watched from safety as the world crumbled around her, surrendering itself to death and hell all over the petty affairs of man. She would have devoted herself to God if not for her parents; they always reminded her of her duty to her family, forcing Mihaela to place her relations on earth before her one true Father.

“I know it’s not what yer used to...”

“No, really. It’s all I’ve ever needed,” Mihaela assured the woman sweetly as she admired an elaborate piece of embroidery.

The woman looked at Mihaela skeptically. She may not have been around many royals in her life, but she was certain that wasn’t how they behaved.

“What is that yew have on yer neck?” the lady abruptly asked with a clarity Mihaela had yet to hear from her.

“Do- do you mean my cross?”

Mihaela stopped fidgeting with her necklace and held it up for the woman to see.

“Yes. I’ve only heard of ‘em. I was beginnin’ to think they were only a myth, like mermaids, or fair rulers,” the woman opined as she examined the cross closely, squinting her eyes to better see the minute details.

“You’ve never seen a cross?” Mihaela gasped in shock.

“No, never.”

“How is that possible?”

The lady slowly released the cross, returning it gently to Mihaela’s chest and giving it a last pat before hesitantly withdrawing her hand. “I think you’ll find God has turned his eye from us- so we have turned our eyes from God.”

Mihaela’s heart broke. In this woman she saw a lost sheep, much as she herself had once been. Reaching out she grabbed the woman’s hand and held it close. “I know this war feels like it has broken us, but those times when God tests our will is just him providing us with the opportunity to prove the true strength of our faith. In so doing we secure our place in the heavenly kingdom alongside those we love.”

The woman looked at her quizzically upon that speech, her softened lips that pulled down into a frown only serving to add more wrinkles to her aged face. “War?”

At Mihaela’s puzzled expression the woman quickly collected herself. “Right, the war. Well- I’m afraid wars aren't always so apparent.”

“Uh- uh, yes. I suppose not...” Mihaela mumbled as she wondered what form of dementia the woman was inflicted with.

The woman looked at her as though she were trying to decide something. That’s when she said it. The words that made Mihaela’s blood run cold.

“There is no God here.”

Startled, Mihaela slowly backed up. “What?”

“There is no God here. Yew’ll see. Yew, yer mother, yer father... all of ye will see soon enough.”

Mihaela’s face turned red and her breathing quickened as her distress rose. “I don’t want to hear this.”

She started for the door, but the woman grabbed her arm. Her nails pierced into Mihaela’s skin.

“Listen to my words while you can- faith will do ye no good here. He controls everything, and he has no soul.”

“Let me go!”

“He gave up the thing which shackled him to the laws of this world and has killed God!”

The old woman began to cackle manically as Mihaela jerked her arm from her iron grip and backed away slowly. She was transfixed by the vision before her. The woman’s head was thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut from the force of her laughter. Her mouth gaped wide as the blood-curdling sound kept pouring fourth. Mihaela could feel her blood run cold at the sight but didn’t want to take her eyes off of the woman for fear she would be attacked.

A maid, who had been on her way to check on Mihaela at her mother’s behest, heard the laughter and poked her head into the room. She saw the tears that had begun coursing down Mihaela’s face.

“Lady Mihaela, what is it? Is this woman bothering you? I can fetch someone to remove her.”

“No, please, take her yourself.”

The maid went up to the old woman and, grabbing her by the arm, began leading her from the room.

Even after the old woman had left the dreadful sound of her cackling rang in Mihaela’s ears, as though she were still there. Shaking, she raised her hands up and rubbed her head, trying to erase the grisly sound from her memory.

The maid came back to check on Mihaela after she had safely escorted the woman away.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just a little... disconcerted.”

Mihaela leaned closer to the maid. “She was a heretic- a deranged heretic. When she saw my cross she just became so...” Mihaela swallowed. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want her to stay away from me. If you know what’s best you will keep away from her as well.”

The maid, who had been with Mihaela for three years and was as comfortable with her mistress as a servant could be, placed a hand soothingly on her arm.

“It is alright, my lady. She is gone now, and the others and I will make sure she keeps a wide berth from you.”

Mihaela nodded her thanks before wiping away the tears that still hung like diamonds from her eyes.

Uncomfortable with the display of emotion from Mihaela, who was usually so reserved, the maid desperately searched for something to say. “I had almost forgotten; the Countess sent me to make sure you were breathing through your handkerchief, my lady.”

Mihaela gave a taciturn smile and whipped out her handkerchief obligingly. “If the Lady Mother requests it then I shall. I am bound by God to love and respect my parents, after all, as I do him.”

She said all of that with an indecipherable expression, but her words and tone were so sickly sweet as to be sardonic. She had never been forced to breathe through the handkerchief as often as she had that day, having only ever passed quickly through the poorer parts of town her mother deemed unsafe, and she chaffed at the thought of using it. The maid turned to leave, but before she could go Mihaela cried out to her. In that moment, all she wanted was for someone to understand her.

“You know I don’t buy into all of this miasma foolishness?” she asked the maid almost pleadingly.

The maid gave Mihaela a tender smile as she considered how fortunate she was to retain a post that allowed her the chance to watch as Mihaela bloomed into such a gracious young woman. In that gentle smile Mihaela found everything she had sought- understanding, sympathy... forgiveness.

“I know you would never think so lowly of another, my lady. You are well above that. God may love all of his creations, but I should think you especially have done him proud with your pure heart.”

Mihaela blushed red at the commendation. She watched as the maid left and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of remorse. She had fooled everyone. Purity had no claim to a soul that held even a drop of poison, and though she managed to stow her sins away in the most hidden corner of her heart the touch of darkness still remained. It resided within her, buried deep inside but hanging onto the edge of the cage, waiting for that moment to escape. And inside it rose, and rose...

~ At the castle ~

“My lord, visitors have arrived in the town,” a woman, as beautiful as a setting sun with just as much radiance as one rising, curtsied deeply before a darkened man sitting beside an open window as she delivered the news. He turned his head and a raven lock of hair fell across his empty eyes, momentarily masking the startling blue. The movement brought his eyes into the glow cast by the sparse light of a nearby candle. They twinkled, and whether the twinkle was from the clash of fire and ice, or some unknown reservoir of happiness hidden deep inside can never be known.

“Is that so? So soon after the first one? How unusual. Do they appear to have any connection or interest in the man whose presence we so enjoyed before?”

“No, my lord- they are a royal family. They would have no affiliation with such a base deserter.”

“Wonderful. Send someone to collect them immediately. Have them sent over as soon as the pass is clear.”

“Shall we invite them to dinner?”

“Of course. We are not barbarians, that is only the polite thing to do. How many shall I be expecting?”

“Three, and plenty of servants.”

“How very grand,” he said smugly as a small, derisive smile crossed his face. “It is a pity, though, that our last guest had to be so uncivil and shatter the window. We had to get rid of him too quickly. I am afraid my appetite has been quite ruined now.”

“So does that mean...?”

He turned towards her, his eyes flashing with a new kind of light which was strangely piercing. It was a look that made even the tenacious woman before him shiver. “Prepare the castle."


	3. Chapter 3: Lost Faith, Lost Minds

~ In the village ~

Mihaela ventured downstairs after she was fully satisfied that her room was in proper order for the night. It had long passed eleven, and sleep was calling to her. Even more insistent than that, though, was the urge to find out more about the town.

She padded down the stairs in the fur slippers her brother, always a handy person, had made for her on her birthday. Her mother had, of course, brought forth a storm when she had learned her eldest son, the next man of the household, had been doing something as unmanly as stitching. Every time Mihaela wore them now she not only remembered her brother, tall and jovial and divine, but was also given a flash of bitter happiness to recall how abysmally outraged her mother had been. Try as Mihaela did to suppress it, it was always the foremost feeling.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and followed voices towards the parlor, where a tiny fire was crackling in the stone fireplace. The heady warmth enveloped Mihaela like a blanket and the smell of fresh pine permeated the room. She saw a middle-aged woman first. The woman was sitting on a rocking chair with her hands crossed tightly together in her lap, staring blankly off into the distance. She seemed to not register a single thing about her, and Mihaela had the urge to shout just to see if the woman would hear. Beside the fireplace crouched the old woman who had shown Mihaela to her room. Her hands were outstretched to feel the heat of the dancing flames play across her skin, and the red glare of the fire restored some luster to the dull gray parlor of her skin. Upon seeing her Mihaela immediately grew weary, but the call of the fire was too strong to ignore.

She tucked her cross into her dress just to be safe.

“Don’t just stand there, girl. Come in,” the old woman barked, sensing her presence.

Mihaela took a tense step forward and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Finally, “Well, this is cozy.”

The old woman cackled, and Mihaela felt the hair at the nape of her neck prickle as she recalled the way the woman had laughed earlier.

“Is that what they call humor where yew come from?” she derisively scoffed.

Mihaela ignored the insult. Turning her attentions to the other woman, Mihaela dipped her head politely. “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting. I am Countess Mihaela of Limerick.”

The woman didn’t seem to hear her but continued to peer into the flames. Mihaela stared at her as she waited for the woman to respond, or at least give some acknowledgment of her presence.

“Pray tell, what is wrong with her?” Mihaela finally inquired of the old woman.

“Nuthin’ yew need be concerning yerself with, now,” the old woman insisted with a mumble that, nonetheless, relayed a stubborn tone. Yet another thing Mihaela wasn’t used to being met with- defiance. She wondered how often the people in this town had met nobility and almost laughed when she considered what would have happened had the old woman taken that tone with her mother.

Throwing all thoughts of her mother aside, Mihaela cast a chariest look on the pair before crossing to stand before the haunted, yet admittedly attractive, woman. When Mihaela got close enough to see the woman’s eyes she was shocked by how brokenly empty they were. They fell as flat onto Mihaela as a lover’s whispered lies. Their shallow graves were devoid of any light- it had long been replaced by an inky darkness that drove all else from them. If eyes were truly the windows to the soul then the woman’s had long fled.

“Hello, miss?” Mihaela breathed gently as she knelt down beside the woman. Slowly, she reached out to place her palm against the ladies forehead, wondering if the woman had been stricken by some sort of fever.

The lady finally reacted, reeling back as the hand came into sight.

“No!” she screamed, and Mihaela flinched back at the abrupt noise, falling back on her hands with a tiny gasp. Finally the woman, her face now ghostly pale as though it was a spirit that sat before Mihaela, noticed her.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded furiously as she stood up.

“I’m- I’m- I’m...”

“This is Countess Mihaela, a visitor to the town,” the old woman pacified the other quickly. Mihaela couldn’t ignore the odd emphasis that had been placed on the word visitor and wondered about it.

“Is that so?” the woman asked, somewhat pacified.

Mihaela stood up, brushing off her robe as she rose. “Yes, I arrived with my parents to visit the lord of these lands, but I am afraid the pass is blocked.”

“You know nothing of fear, and evidently none of manners, either. Is it your habit to so casually touch people?” the woman demanded.

“I’m quite sorry, I was just concerned-

Mihaela tried to apologize to the woman but she was cut off with the wave of a hand. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to see if she truly was awake. The kind of treatment she was receiving was not at all what she was used to, sheltered and privileged as she was.

“I don’t need to hear it. Please, just don’t do it again. You scared me...” the woman tiredly murmured before slowly sinking back into her rocking chair. Not a moment passed before she returned to staring blankly across the room. Mihaela licked her lips nervously at such oscillating behavior .

“Don’t mind her, she’s just been under a lot of pressure lately,” the old woman comforted as she went up to Mihaela and pulled her away from the strange woman. “Best to leave her be.”

Mihaela allowed herself to be led away by the old woman, too distracted by the perplexing nature of the village to bother protesting. “I don’t understand anything that’s going on here.”

Mihaela shook her head slowly, her hands wandering up to grasp her cross.

“Yew will come to.”

“What does that mean? All I’m met with are abstruse statements and strange declarations that I am somehow expected to understand,” Mihaela’s hand left her cross to hold her spinning head as the world around her began to whirl. “I wish we had never come here. I never wanted to leave my home in the first place; fleeing to mountains just because there is a war reeks too much of cowardice, which I cannot abide. We were perfectly safe in our castle! Yet here we are, and there is something that tells me that coming here was a mistake.”

“What is it that tells yew that yew should have never come?” the old woman probed with a strange inflection.

Mihaela released a frustrated breath of pent up air. “You, this town, the woman downstairs... everything is indicative of something sinister. When sails are full it is because the wind blows, and when the mien of everyone in the village is so peculiar that is when one knows there is a larger, more ominous force at play. I don’t feel God here, not like I usually do.”

Mihaela chewed her lip as the duo went a little further up the stairs in silence. They had gone only a few steps when the old woman abruptly turned to face Mihaela. “I was wondering if- if ye would tell me somethin’ of yer God.”

She made the request in a conspiratorial whisper, glancing almost nervously about her as she spoke. Mihaela raised her eyebrows skeptically, wondering at the sudden turn in conversation.

“You want me to tell me about what you claim is a dead God?”

“I understand the concept of this God, even if he doesn’t want us to. Your God, he is rumored to be omniscient. He just doesn’t exist here.”

Mihaela tilted her head to the side, considering.

“It would be my deepest pleasure to share with you what I know,” Mihaela finally said, and she was every bit sincere. As a Christian it was her duty to spread the word of God to everyone in His kingdom. The old woman had made a sincere request, and Mihaela felt it would be remiss to deny her.

She led the woman to her room and began to tell her of God. The woman listened for only a moment before interrupting, not even allowing Mihaela to get through the first few verses of Genesis.

“So he created everything?”

Mihaela wondered at how one person could be so spiritually deprived. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Even the light?” the woman asked as she leaned closer.

“Yes, on the fourth day.”

The old woman gazed at Mihaela with open appraisal. “And what of monsters?”

Mihaela’s brows came together in puzzlement as she tilted her head. “Whatever do you mean? Do you mean to say Satan?”

“Is that your word for them?”

“Um, I- I suppose they are interchangeable, yes.”

“So what does it mean if there’s a place where the light never reaches?”

“If such a place exists then I’ve yet to hear of it,” Mihaela said with a charming smile.

“Yer going to the castle. Yew’ll see that such a place does. That castle is a place where the sun never shines.”

“That’s not possible,” Mihaela told the old woman sternly as she rose from where she had been seated on the bed. She mentally chided herself for allowing herself to be alone with the old woman once again.

The woman continued on as if Mihaela had said nothing. “God doesn’t tread in the valley, but monsters- they do.”

“Monsters aren’t real!” Mihaela fiercely insisted, well past exasperated by the woman’s irrational behavior. She knew something was wrong with the village, but that did not mean that she was willing to put any stock into such fanciful tales.

“Yew’d best work on yer prayers before yew go to that place. And hide yer cross. If rumors are right then he won’t like it. If that cross be truth and not a myth as I believed, then that means it really could be a way out.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean and no longer any interest. Please leave. I’m afraid I’m too weary to continue talking.”

The words Mihaela spoke were only a partial lie. She really was tired; she was tired of trying to decode the old woman’s crazed ramblings. Why she would try to say Mihaela needed to hide her cross baffled her. What she meant when going on about sunshine and monsters was even more of a mystery. In the end she could only berate herself for ever listening to such sacrilegious drivel.

The old woman eagerly nodded. “Yes, ye’d best rest up while yew can. Yew have a tryin’ time ahead of you. Good night.”

Mihaela watched the woman as she retreated, surprised that the people in the village were able to acquire decent manners, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the old woman and the other villagers? What do you think will happen? Are you ready to meet the Master, the man behind it all? ;)


	4. Chapter 4: The Master

The next morning, Mihaela awoke to her maid gently shaking her.

“Lady Mihaela, a guide is here from the castle to lead us there. I’m to help you get dressed.”

Mihaela rose with a yawn, languorously stretching her arms. “So the passes are clear, then?”

“Clear enough now, the villagers say. It is the strangest thing, though. He arove last night before they should have had a chance to.”

“That is strange. How is it he could have arrived here but we could not have gone on to the castle?” Mihaela mused as she finally rose from bed.

“I’ve no idea, miss.”

“Hmm...” Mihaela hummed thoughtfully as her maid began rifling through the drawers in search of a suitable outfit.

“What shall you be wearing today, Countess Mihaela?”

“Something sensible, nothing too overdone. The weather won’t allow for anything else.”

“Of course. Does the dark purple dress with lace frills work?”

Mihaela sighed. “That is the most simple thing mother allowed me to bring. That will have to do. I think I’ll wear it with the gray hat that has the dark green veil and my gray gloves.”

“Wonderful choice, miss,” the maid told her kindly as she laid out everything her mistress would need to properly dress.

“Do you think the carriage ride will be too long?” Mihaela asked as she held her arms up so the maid could wrap her petticoat around her.

“I don’t believe so. I know the mansion is just a few short miles away- the ride shouldn’t take longer than the shake of a lamb’s tail.”

As the maid was helping Mihaela get dressed, another was packing the few things that had been unpacked back into the traveling bags. Both tasks were finished at the same time, and the maid who had been tugging Mihaela’s clothes on stepped back to look at her appraisingly.

“You look beautiful, if I may say so, my lady.”

Mihaela gave the maid a tender smile in response, touching her gently on the shoulder. “Ah, you always know when my spirits need a lift, don’t you?”

The maid gave out a shudder as she looked superstitiously around her. “I think all of our spirits need a lifting, my lady.”

Just then, a shrill voice interrupted them.

“Mihaela, did you hear the news? We’re going to the castle, is that not grand! We will not be forced to stay in this stable for another night, I am so very delighted!” the countess prattled on cheerfully before Mihaela could respond, clasping her hands beneath her chin as if to send a prayer up to God- most likely to thank him for their salvation.

“Mother,” Mihaela weakly protested as a brilliant blush crept across her cheeks.

“What is it?” the countess asked inquisitively, not at all aware of what was going on in her daughter’s head, as usual.

Mihaela sighed. “Nothing at all,” she mumbled as she turned her head away, eyes downcast.

The maid coughed awkwardly as she stepped back, done with the minute adjustments she had been making.

“My lady, you are ready,” she told Mihaela with a final curtsy.

“Wonderful, and all of her things are packed away?” the countess chimed.

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Then we shall depart at once!” the countess grandly cooed.

A maid walking by carrying a large travel trunk stopped and popped her head into the room. “I’m afraid the count is still indisposed, my lady, and refuses to be awoken by anyone.”

“What?” the countess gasped. “He would be so rude as to make the man sent to get us wait? Not to mention, force us to stay in this- this hole even longer? Well, we shall see about that," the countess declared sternly before grasping her skirts and gliding off, as quickly as she deemed appropriate for a lady.

“I’ve a feeling this will not be good... but, at the very least, it shall be amusing,” Mihaela confided in the maid that stood beside her.

“Indeed, my lady, I imagine so!” the maid enthusiastically replied as she suppressed a laugh.

“Well, I suppose you might as well begin carrying the luggage down to the carriage. She will only be further peaked if she finds that my father is awake and ready to go but the carriage is not.”

The maid dipped into a final curtsy, “My Lady,” before picking up a heavy suitcase and setting off.

Mihaela looked about the room that was somehow so full of life a final time, and she felt a feeling of dread build inside her. It was not that she was coming to believe the tales she had been told the night before, it was simply that there was something very strange about the village, and she could only imagine the cause was the presiding lord. Whatever awaited them at the castle could not be good, as such. She grasped the cross that hung about her neck firmly, telling herself that it would be alright. Nothing bad could happen to her. The lord would only be human no matter the woman’s talk of monsters, and Mihaela was protected by her status as a royal.

With a deep breath she prepared herself for whatever was to come, reminding herself that at all times her God would be with her. Turning, she left the room and began to head downstairs to meet the guide that would be taking her to the dreaded mansion. Down the hall through an open door she could see her father sprawled on a bed with blackened wood and a yellow cover, his arms thrown over his head and his hands clasped firmly over his ears as the countess loudly berated him. She stood with arms crossed and chin held loftily up, eyes half hooded, giving him what Mihaela had always thought of as the look. It was a look that had given even powerful Dukes, socially inferior only to Kings, pause. Up the stairs marched a man Mihaela had yet to see, but judging by his self-important air she could only guess that he was the one appointed to be their guide. His clothes were simple- he wore a loose white shirt with a clasped vest of black and blue over it. His pants were black leather, a fact Mihaela shuddered at, considering it unbelievably tacky. Yet it seemed to fit right in with the olden motif of the village.

The man paid no mind to Mihaela as she stood looking at him, but instead breezed down the hall to the room her father rested in. She crept closer to hear what was being said, as the visitor spoke softly.

“... my master summons you, and I am afraid he is not a patient man. To be frank, he outranks you, and will consider your belatedness an afront when you have already caused enough of one. You have already so rudely shown up to the village that he presides over unannounced; it is ill advised to anger one who is superior to you any further.”

That rattled the fat earl enough to get him up. “What did you say?” he demanded, once more in that huffy way of his as he struggled to push himself up on his hands, trying to ignore the subsequent throbbing in his head; throbbing that was a product of him getting too deep into his cups at the village bar the night before.

“What needed to be said. I have the protection of my Lord, and I have been directed to bring you directly to him forthwith. To ignore his request after so inappropriately imposing on him to the extent you have would be an egregious and unforgivable affront, so I must insist that you hurry,” the man continued coolly, not at all caring about the rattled earl’s ire.

“I will not-

The earl began to protest as he went to rise from the bed, his teeth clenched. Mihaela had never seen him so angry- he was positively seething. She had to hold back a giggle; it would not be right for her to laugh at her own father... but his complete inability to accomplish a task as simple as rise from the bed made it difficult.

“You will sit down and not make a fool of yourself. He has every right to criticize you- we have been unbelievably rude, and it is not his words he conveys, but his masters. To question them is to question the lord of these lands himself,” Mihaela’s mother asserted before the earl could continue, her contempt for her husband only thinly veiled. She spoke in a calm voice, but Mihaela knew that if proper etiquette were not so important to her she likely would have gripped the earl by his red ear and hauled him from the bed already, screaming into his piggish face all the while.

“Thank you, Countess.” the guide acknowledged, still in a flat, monotone voice, his words conveying gratitude, but his tone not yielding the slightest hint of emotion.

The earl looked back and forth between the pair, his jaw working like he was about to say something. With a steady look from the guide he contained himself. Slowly, he rose from the bed.

“I will need a moment to change,” he insisted with as much dignity as he could muster after getting put into his place by what could only be a lowly ranked servant and his wife.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” the guide immediately assured the earl.

“I was in these last night!” the earl blustered as he puffed his chest out defensively.

“Then you should have changed out of them last night. We have no time to waste; we have already waited long enough for you, we must go now. Or are you telling me that you spurn the hospitality my Lord is offering?”

At that last utterance something entered the man’s voice that was very dangerous. Mihaela had to resist the urge to step back, instead moving forward to better ensure she didn’t miss anything.

The earl, dense as he was, seemed to catch the veiled danger in the guides voice as well. “No, no... I suppose these clothes are fine. Yes, these are actually the perfect clothes for travel. I would not wear anything else!” he announced grandly as he inspected his garments with an air of contentment, as if he had been the one to choose to remain in them.

“Wonderful. Let us be on our way, then,” the guide said without any preamble, turning on his heel and striding out. He walked right towards Mihaela, not bothering to go around her even though there was plenty of room. He stopped before her and stared her down as she did the same to him. Neither moved for the other. Mihaela didn’t know how long they stood there before she bowed her head and stepped meekly to the side. He brushed past her without a word.

Simple servant, indeed. She guessed he was more important than she had originally thought. The lord himself, perhaps. That would explain how he had so much moxie, commanding her father... Mihaela felt a warm grin come over her face. She hoped he was the lord, though she could certainly understand what the townsfolk were so blustered about if he was. He reeked so strongly of danger it could have been sold as perfume.

Mihaela made her way down the stairs ahead of her parents, who had been busy quietly whispering to each other as her and the guide had been having the little staring competition. Though their words were hushed there was an undeniable ferocity behind them. Mihaela wanted to be away from that. She was tired of them fighting, and tired of them, if she was honest with herself. There was no love lost between the earl and countess and their daughter. They had little love to give, both being cold and embittered people. Mihaela placed her hand over her heart as she wondered if she had inherited that same bitterness- if that’s why she always had to play a lamb when she was a snake.

It hadn’t always been this way between the family. Her father had once loved her and her mother, but that had been when Mihaela’s brother, the earl’s only son, was alive. Then he had gone to war and died in battle- it was a valiant death, but that did not matter. The earl had lost his only son. After that, the earl began to loathe the thing he once had cherished; when he looked at his wife he felt resentment that she had only borne him two children, and when he looked at Mihaela he felt only a penetrating disappointment.

The countess had been delighted with Mihaela when she was a child. Her daughter had been her pride and joy, for in Mihaela the countess found a daughter to dote upon, someone she could mold into a likeness of herself. That all changed as Mihaela grew up. She discovered a desire to serve God that was so ardent her life felt meaningless without Him in it, and her mother became disillusioned. Mihaela would never be the woman the countess wished her to be, one who coveted wealth and valued status above all else.

As Mihaela reflected on her past her hand wandered up to a familiar place. Closing her fist, she tightly clung to the object that always managed to enliven her with renewed strength. I am but a snake despite all of my repentance. My heavenly father, our one true Lord, drive the sin and anger from my heart so that I may truly be a worthy subject unto you. Amen. Mihaela walked as she prayed with her head bowed and eyes closed. As she held the cross tightly clenched in her hand the chain, which had grown fragile from use, broke. The necklace fell from where it had moments ago been so securely wrapped around her neck. Mihaela gasped in dismay.

“No!” she cried out as she lifted the necklace up and frantically inspected the chain.

“My Lady, is something wrong? What is it?” a concerned maid came rushing towards Mihaela, who had never before raised her voice in such a manner.

“It’s my cross. It- it broke.”

Mihaela began to cry. That cross may not have been her true link to God, for that resided in her heart, but it may as well have been. It made her feel closer to her Lord and reminded her that He was always with her. It was her most precious possession, the only one that she cherished, and it was now broken.

“Here, I’m sure we can fix it...” the maid began as she reached out towards it. Mihaela reeled back, clutching the necklace to her.

“No!” she shouted once more, this time vehemently. The maid jerked her hand back, shocked.

“I’m- I’m sorry. It’s just that I looked and there’s no way to fix it. Just- just leave it be,” Mihaela said softly as she hung her head, tears slowly drifting down her rosy cheeks like dew drops on a petal.

“As you wish, my Lady. Don’t worry- I’m sure it won’t be long until you can have it replaced,” the maid tried to reassure her before silently slipping away.

“But where will God be until then?” Mihaela whispered brokenly as she ran her thumb along the edges of the cross. Bringing the cross to her lips, she kissed it before wrapping the chain around her wrist. Tying off the ends, she shoved the cross into her glove, where it wouldn’t be damaged. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and wiped away her tears. She was being ridiculous. God would always be with her.

She left the house and climbed into the awaiting carriage.

“What took you so long? We were waiting for you!” her father snapped. Her mother ignored her, continuing to stare out the carriage window.

“I’m sorry. Something happened,” Mihaela mumbled.

“Do not mumble, Mihaela. It is unladylike,” Mihaela’s mother gently reprimanded her as she turned her gaze from the window to her daughter. When she saw Mihaela her lips pinched together as though she were sucking something sour.

“Mihaela, breathe THROUGH your handkerchief. We are not away from the poor’s miasma yet.”

“Yes, Mother,” Mihaela relented in a subservient way that completely masked her own annoyance. Keeping her eyes downcast, she whipped out the object that was so offensive to her. She brought it delicately to her nose and inhaled the heady scent of rose petals as she shot daggers at her mother.

“What happened that made you late to the carriage?” the earl asked.

“I’ve no wish to talk about it.”

“Well I do. We were ready to go and you decided that you had better things to do. Tardiness is not an admirable quality in a noble, especially in a lady. You need to try harder. I do not want to be disappointed in you, but I find it difficult not to be. If only your brother were still alive. He honored our family name.”

Lightning flashed in Mihaela’s eyes. “Yes, somehow, despite his terrible breeding, he did manage to be a person worthy of admiration and respect. I, on the other hand, am not so fortunate. I do find it amusing that you have never considered that if I weren’t your daughter and didn’t have your detestable genes I would not be such a disappointment. Unfortunately, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

The venom in Mihaela’s words as she vehemently berated her father was so palpable the earl could taste the bitter sourness of them in his mouth. She did not have a morsel of regret within her even as she launched the tirade against him. She realized that she was being everything she had fought her whole life not to be and it didn’t matter; she had finally reached her limits. That he would dare to use her brother as a provocation...

Upon her words her father didn’t hesitate. With a resounding whack he reached out and slapped her as hard as he could. Mihaela’s head snapped to the side and her teeth rattled in her skull. She felt a prickling pain as she bit her tongue, and she could taste the metallic tang of copper as blood surged through her mouth. Even more overwhelming was the feeling of rage that swept through her with the irresistible fury of a tidal wave.

“Well, it’s a good thing Mother forced me to have out my handkerchief because of her absurd fear of me breathing in too much miasma. At least it will be useful for something,” Mihaela observed coldly with not a tear in her eye as she disdainfully wiped up the blood that trickled forth from the corner of her mouth.

“Why, you insolent child, I’ve had quite enough of you!” her father roared, but Mihaela just ignored him, turning to stare disinterestedly out of the window.

“You- you!” he began sputtering as he realized she was ignoring him. Mihaela’s mother released a weary sigh and turned towards him.

“Leave her be. She is clearly in a mood- I suspect it is women’s issues,” the countess defended her daughter halfheartedly, but only to get the earl, whose voice grated on the ears like a chair dragging across a floor, to stop talking.

It wasn’t effective. The earl, momentarily distracted from his daughter, only turned towards the countess to launch his risible tirade at her.

“There’s no respect, no respect, I say!”

Mihaela closed her eyes and let her parents bickering become background noise as she wondered how long it would take to reach the castle. They could not arrive soon enough.

The carriage swayed onward, the wheels creaking over the ground that was still muddy from the last melting of the snow. Every now and again the carriage would get stuck and the coachman would clamor down from his seat to pull the horses and once more get the carriage moving. It was insufferably slow progress but, inch by inch, the creaking carriage brought them closer and closer to their destination. Mihaela thought how strange and disjointed all the noises were- the creaking of the carriage and the occasional thunk from jolting over a bump fought to drown out her parent’s softly raised voices. Off in the forest she could hear the burbling sound of a moving body of water, which added a soft touch to the distracting noises that surrounded Mihaela. It was the lack of any other noises you’d expect from a forest- birds chirping, wolves howling- that prompted a wave of foreboding from within Mihaela.

“I don’t wish to go to the castle,” Mihaela finally interrupted her parents.

“Whatever do you mean?” the countess inquired with a guarded annoyance.

Mihaela knew she couldn’t tell her parents that she had a dreadful feeling about what awaited them at the castle. She knew they would reject her offhand, and she could not fault them for that. She herself had to admit that there was no reason for her to be so trepidatious, none that she could explain, at least. Desperately, she searched to find an excuse to turn around that they would accept. “It- it’s just that... we’re trying to find shelter from the war because our home has become too dangerous. However, we have already invoked the ire of the lord that presides over this land. And look at the villagers! They have so little to offer- their clothes, houses, and lands are all ragged and old. It is no stretch to assume the war has had an even greater impact here than in other places. Sheltering here, even for a temporary reprieve from traveling, strikes me as being counterproductive.”

The earl gave out a lofty snort. “Don’t be daft. We came all this way and we are not turning back now just because a few villagers do not have any noticeable fashion sense.”

“It’s just-

The earl cut Mihaela’s plea off with a slash of his hand.

“No! We are unsafe in our castle, we need the protection the mountains surrounding this one provides. I will hear no more of this foolishness, I am done with this matter.”

Mihaela fell silent. She had figured he would say as much- he was a stubborn fool for all he pretended otherwise, just like any jackass without a harness. The rest of the journey continued with stony silence and icy glares, the only sounds to greet them coming from the outside world, where Mihaela desperately longed to be.

Finally, after what seemed like eons but must have been an eternity, the carriage began to slow.

“Oh my, do you think we have finally arrived?” the countess cooed as she craned her head, straining to catch a glimpse of the castle through the tiny carriage window.

“Indeed we have, Countess,” the gravelly voice of the coachman came floating back to them.

“It’s about time- I was beginning to fear we would never arrive!”

The countess possessed an uncanny talent of managing to find ways of complaining even in her exultations, but what she saw next put an immediate end to any sounds except a delighted gasp as the castle came into sight. Her mouth hung open in obvious appreciation. She made not a noise as she gazed awe-struck out the window, rendered speechless by the vision that lay before her. It was a dismal day- rain clouds hung over the valley and a light drizzle was coming down. Strong winds were whipping through as if trying to break free from the circles of mountains- they had been insistently rattling the carriage since it had broken through the throng of trees. All of this sought to hide the features of the castle, but it was still no hard task to discern the sheer magnificence of the structure that lay before them.

Dazzling stained glass windows, that no doubt would have shone had there been so much as a drop of sunlight to be found, decorated the walls of the first floor of the castle. Statues of cherub angels guarded the castle with tiny bows held at the ready, their chubby faces turned towards the approaching carriage, as if gracing its arrival. The light gray stone rose high, competing with the mountains for height. The edges were made of a lighter gray stone that contrasted nicely with the rest and high up, so high that they touched the clouds and the countess had to crane her neck to see them, rose strong towers with mighty parapets, perfect for stationed guards or stolen moments between lovers. The front part of the castle was set low, but further back the rest of it came rising up to tower dominantly above everything else. It was a place that bore the graceful dignity of a typical Irish castle.

The carriage pulled to a stop as the earl and countess stared at the castle in stupid memorization. Their daughter was unfazed by the apparition of the castle and gazed blankly onwards. She was as excited to enter the castle now as she had been to arrive to it before.

A footman decked out in a red and gold livery outfit that was fine, if a bit old fashioned, came rushing down the castle steps to greet the earl and his family. Pulling open the carriage door, he offered his hand to assist the countess out first. She took it without seeming to notice him.

“This is a lovely place. I say, how old is the Lord of this castle?” she asked innocently as she turned to face the man that had escorted their carriage along the path.

Mihaela suppressed the urge to groan, biting her tongue. She knew exactly what her mother was getting on about.

“The duke is young enough, Countess,” the man responded blandly.

“And is he married?”

“No, he has yet to take a wife,” the man told the countess, a queer sort of grin beginning to spread slowly across his face, like there was some inside joke that they were not yet aware of.

“Well, I imagine it must get quite lonely up here, isolated as it is. Mihaela, why don’t you... Mihaela!”

Mihaela hadn’t stayed to listen. Brushing past her mother, she had grasped her skirts in her hands and began walking quickly up the steps. If her mother was never able to suggest it then she would never have to consider it. She had dodged the threat of marriage for far too long and was quite adept at it at this point.

“Mihaela!” her mother called as loudly as she could without truly raising her voice, not wanting to ruin her image in front of the castle servants now that she had a vision in her mind of her daughter marrying a well-off duke. No, that wouldn’t do, he had to think the absolute best of them.

It was too late to go back, though. Mihaela had reached the doors. The footman waiting beside them obligingly threw them open.

“Lady Mihaela,” he greeted her politely as he dipped his head. She gingerly stepped over the threshold and entered the castle, looking cautiously around her. Towering stone walls with picturesque tapestries and glorious paintings greeted her. To the left was a spacious room with a crackling hearth that spread cheer to the castle. A large harpsichord decorated with a grand war scene sat atop a plush Persian rug, the kind that swallows feet whole. There was nothing openly strange about the castle- it was nothing but inviting, yet Mihaela still had a dreadful feeling.

“My Lady, if you would follow me right this way,” the butler, who had been waiting for the family to arrive at the entrance, directed with a stately bow while gesturing his hand past him. The earl and countess stepped through the doorway as he spoke. Mihaela didn’t wait, breezing past the butler as if she had been in the castle many times before and already knew the way.

“You’ll want to go to the right, Lady Mihaela,” the butler prompted her, and though his voice was every bit proper, underlying it was a strained note that revealed just how difficult it was for him to conceal that he was irritated by her lacking manners. Rudeness was something that would never do.

Mihaela turned left into a grand drawing room and finally paused in her determined march forward. If the outside of the castle represented the traditional Irish dignity that resounded in every grain of soil and every beating heart, then the inside was resemblant of the very soul of Ireland itself; robust, yet with an impressive and majestic undertone that was striking in the most direct of ways. With wood waxed to a keen shine and simple rugs in emerald greens and downplayed creams, it didn’t need opulent paintings and elaborate tapestries to create a lasting impression; every inch spoke of the Gaelic strength that each Irish descendant was proud to carry inside of them.

As Mihaela stared in stunned amazement at the simplistic beauty of the room, her parent’s filed in peacefully behind her, for once not bickering. They were instead focusing their energies on prying more information about their host from the butler, who obliged them willingly enough, but always with an answer that wasn’t quite direct enough for Mihaela’s liking. He always seemed to be skirting around something. Turning to look at them, she faced the butler head on. Squaring her shoulders, she wondered how what she was about to say would be received.

“It seems as though nobody in these parts likes to give a direct answer to any queries concerning your master or his castle. It makes one very curious.”

“Is that all that brought you here, curiosity? Well, anyone who lives here could assuage any thoughts of grandeur you may have. I assure you that this is a very boring place, as you must surely have noticed in the village,” the butler spoke coolly, gesturing towards a luxurious couch for the family to take a seat as he did so.

“Did I?” Mihaela scoffed.

A low chuckle issued from the shadows before the butler could respond. Mihaela whipped her head around as a man stepped forth. And there before her it stood- the very epitome of danger.


	5. Chapter 5: The Promise of Uncertainty

There before her stood a tall, dark man, whose countenance was that of one who had seen much through the years. He stood straight and tall, and though he was relaxed there was a tension about him, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. It was the sort of pose that comes only with the experience of life. Beside him stood a daunting vision that made Mihaela quake. Her breath caught in her throat as behind her she heard her mother gasp, a sound soon followed by a loud thump. Looking back she saw her mother splayed out on the floor, the trauma of what she saw before her too much. Her skirt had fallen haphazardly above her knees, revealing her flouncy petticoats in quite an unladylike manner. Mihaela’s father had fallen to the floor soon after her mother, but not to check on the countess. Clasping his hands together dramatically, he was fervently praying to God above, for before them stood the largest wolf that the earth had ever been cursed with.

It towered above the ground. Its head reached the man’s shoulder, easily. Its legs were enormous chunks of muscle and its paws looked as though they could rip off a head with one effortless flick. It was a wonder the ground didn’t shake as it walked. Every part of the wolf was pure sinew. When it sat its brawny muscles rippled fiercely. Down its face, maring its silver fur, were three jagged, pink battle scars. The scars ran from the top of the creatures eyelid past a daunting red eye all the way down to the left side of its massive snout, the snout that was now curling back to reveal sharp canines that would need as much pressure to slice open skin as a finely honed knife pressed against a leaf would... still the lips drew back further, and further, until what sat before Mihaela was a happily smiling wolf. Slowly, its tongue rolled happily out.

“Good God, is it smiling? Is this it, is this the end? Oh Lord, if you deliver me from this evil-

“Now, now, my good sir, this dog presents no evil that you must be delivered from. Come now,” looking over his shoulder, the duke addressed his butler. “Do help the poor countess.”

The butler rushed to do his lord’s bidding and the duke returned his gaze to the quivering earl. “I must apologize for the fright, it was not my intention. I do not often have the pleasure of entertaining such lovely and distinguished guests as your wife and daughter, and I fear I forgot how gentile such creatures as they can be,” the duke earnestly offered his apologies to the earl as he offered him a hand up.

“That beast is completely tame, then?” the earl’s voice was filled with doubt.

“Indeed. I can honestly say it is the tamest thing in this castle,” the duke assured the earl with a tone that held a touch of amusement.

“Right. And I suppose that scar was a product of a day spent frolicking in a field chasing butterflies,” Mihaela remarked. The duke looked at her with a face devoid of expression.

“Actually, it was vermin.”

“Ah, of course. Those renowned vermin claws can inflict such terrible wounds. Once I had to have a whole bandage wrapped around my finger from a scratch inflicted by one of them. I dare say a few more days and it might have been beset by a fatal infection!”

The duke raised an eyebrow at her facetious words. “You are quite the surprise, Lady Mihaela.”

Mihaela looked at the man in stunned appraisal. “You appear to have me at a disadvantage, sir, for you servants seem to have informed you of who I am, yet your own name remains a mystery to me.”

“But of course. You must forgive me. It has been far too long since I have hosted anyone- I realize my manners are reprehensible.”

So saying the duke gave a deep, stiff bow. “I am Duke Cirin, first son of Duke Winslow and Duchess Eilis. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I understand if the feeling is not mutual. Especially for your poor, poor mother,” he remarked with a blithe glance in the direction of the countess, who had just come to with a pitiful moan from the coach where she’d been laid.

“Be it not on me to deny you the forgiveness you seek. I’m certain you meant no harm. My mother is of a rather delicate nature. I’m sure she will also want to assure you of her lack of ill will... that is to say, whenever she regains the power of speech,” Mihaela archly jabbed. Cirin gave a delighted laugh.

“Wonderful, I will wish it so with all of my being. I would hate to lose the favor of one so radiant as her.”

The earl, who had been listening closely while he had been doing his husbandly duty of attending his wife, irritating though he found the responsibility, came and bowed to the duke.

“Duke Cirin, what a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I must say I have heard many good things about you. Your reputation is unmatched by any in Ireland. I am Earl-

“Yes, I know who you are,” Cirino cut off the earl with a flick of his hand, “what I do not know is why you are here, in my lands, visiting my castle.”

The earl, caught off guard by the pointed words, stumbled for a moment before blustering on.  
“Ahem, yes, well. As I was saying, your reputation is untarnished. I have heard of your generosity and compassion, courtesy of your parents no doubt, though sadly I have never had the pleasure of meeting them. I must impose upon your good nature now. The land is beset with a terrible war that threatens me as well as what is left of my family. My son, God rest his soul, died in battle. Now I find that fear of losing my wife and daughter as well haunts me every night, allowing me no rest. That type of terror is truly crippling.

“At first I ignored it, believing that the problem would fix itself and the war would be diverted from us or end, but as the war has crept closer and closer to our home that which was once our haven has become our doom. Nobles, as I’m sure you know, being one yourself and thereby victim to the same dangers, are an enticing target for the rampaging soldiers of the land. A man must protect that which is his. So I have come here in hopes that I can call upon your generosity and compassion and seek refuge. Here, in the mountains, you are well protected, as I wish my family to be. I will of course reimburse you for any inconvenience we may cause- I would not think to prey on your hospitality needlessly.”

“No, you would just think to use me as a glorified inn.”

“Duke Cirin, I can assure you that is not at all my-

“Dearest earl, of course you may stay here. I will simply not consider payment. The life you offer this castle- that is quite enough reimbursement for me,” Cirin once more interrupted the earl whom, he had already deduced, liked nothing more than the sound of his own voice.

“Thank you, Duke Cirin, that is quite charitable of you.”

“I beg of you, think nothing of it. We are of the same ilk and it is my most humble of beliefs that we must stick together in these, the most trying of times. It is, after all, as you say- there are many dangers that abound for nobles such as us.”

“Am I hearing correctly? You will shelter us for the time being?” the duchess’ frail voice issued forth, and Mihaela went to check on her at the sound. She had been more affected than Mihaela had believed.

“Of course, my lady. I would be remiss to turn out two such lovely damsels in distress.”

“My, I had no idea that the mountains hid such a delightful gentleman as you or I would have made a point of visiting your castle much sooner. I must admit I do worry about you, though, Duke Cirin. It must be terribly lonely living out here all by yourself. I overheard you when you said that you do not receive many visitors. I am confident my daughter would be more than happy to keep you company while we are here; I’m certain you suffer from the lack of contact with the outside world, and offering our friendship is the least we can do in return for your most gracious hospitality.”

“That is a kind offer, but I wonder as to what Mihaela’s thoughts on it are,” Cirin rejoined teasingly.

“I should think that if you wanted female companionship you would know where to find it,” Mihaela pronounced stiffly, thrusting her nose defiantly into the air as her eyebrows drew together in a seething glare.

“Mihaela!” the countess gasped in dismay.

“No, it is quite alright- being able to converse with people I’ve never met before is quite refreshing, and the young countess’ bluntness is even more so. I dare say it is almost delightful, though I would caution you, Countess Mihaela- frowning like that, well... some men may very well take it as a challenge.”

“Men take everything as a challenge. If a man spits in front of his comrades they interpret it as a direct attack on their manhood and take it upon themselves to see who can spit farther. As long as some men realize that some challenges are never going to be won I don’t see how it’s either here or there what those men decide to take my frowning as a sign of.”

“Forgive me, my daughter is usually quite agreeable but I fear the troubles of the journey have upset her constitution and she is not herself. She seems to have lost the ability to watch her tongue,” the earl swiftly interjected.

“Do not apologize. I have never seen the benefit of mincing ones words.”

“Yes, well, at least we have that one thing in common,” Mihaela pointedly added.

Upon that bold declaration Cirin bestowed a beatific smile on Mihaela that made her breath catch. She was being so prickly towards Cirin because of her mother’s intentions for the two of them as well as her own residual doubts about the quality of his character (for the speech her father had given the duke concerning his reputation had been fully fabricated- nobody in Ireland had heard anything about the duke of the lands before the mountains, not even his name) and the land itself remained. The duke may have been disarmingly charming but that didn’t assuage Mihaela’s suspicions that something wasn’t right. When she took a moment to separate herself from those prejudgments, though, she realized that the duke was a bitterly handsome man. With his defined cheekbones and gently upturned nose, aristocratic forehead and freezingly cold blue eyes, soft, curved lips and strong yet dimpled chin, he was equal parts hot and cold, cruel and solicitous. Looking at him sent a shiver running up Mihaela.

She came back to awareness at the countesses piercing laugh and the wolves answering bark.

“Of course Duke Cirin, we would be honored to be your dinner guests!” the countess accepted Cirin’s invitation to dine with him after wearily glancing at the dog.

“I count the hours until then. Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to for now. I can’t delay any longer, though I wish I could give you all a tour. I will have my butler show you to your rooms and then, if you’d like, he could give you a tour himself. For now I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, Duke Cirin, we will keep you from your duties no longer. Rest assured we’ll manage just fine,” the earl assured him.

With a parting bow Cirin left the room, his dog close behind.

“If you will follow me, I have instructions to set you and your family up in the best rooms of the castle. I promise you, you will not be disappointed with your lodgings,” the butler directed as he ushered them all out of the sitting room.

~ Off in the castle ~

“My Lord Cirin, tell me- how are the new guests?” Cirin’s most loyal and constant attendant asked as she ran a hand up his arm possessively.

Cirin gazed out the window. In his reflection she could see a brooding look on his face that she had never seen before. “They are exactly what you would expect, except for Mihaela. She is a special case,” he mused thoughtfully before a delighted grin slowly split his face. It sent shivers up the woman’s spine to behold.

“Shall I assume her stay will be... extended, then, Master?”

“Mmm, what else. After all, when playing chess one must maneuver carefully before one takes down the queen. It’s not about how quickly the game is over, Mordrea...”

So saying he slid his tongue slowly over his lips, savoring the moment before continuing on.

“It’s about how you play.”


End file.
